


Farm to Table

by LordOfThePoptarts



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Attempt at Humor, Bad Puns, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Cannibalism, Established Relationship, Horror, M/M, Married Couple, Murder, No Sex, Torture, author's inexplicable hate of a certain brand of hipster, read the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26724499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordOfThePoptarts/pseuds/LordOfThePoptarts
Summary: Hanzo and McCree have had the best produce stall at the farmer's market for years now, and much to Mrs. Johnson's chagrin they just won't give up their secret. It wasn't anything special really, a little sun, a little water, and a particularly special kind of food.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58
Collections: Danger & Dread: A McHanzo Horror Collection





	Farm to Table

“Nice weather we’re havin’, huh?” Jesse smiled as he leaned back against their truck, sighing at the pleasant feeling of warm metal that had yet to grow too hot in the morning sun.

“It would be if you decided to get up and help me. We are already running late.” Hanzo rolled his eyes at his husband’s antics, and lifted a box of produce out of the trunk. “We need to be set up soon, or we’ll lose out on the morning rush.” 

Jesse threw his hands up in defeat, a fond smile on his face, “I hear ya pumpkin, but if I remember correctly, I wasn’t the one who made us late.”

Hanzo blushed, and just shoved the box into his husband’s arms. “I keep telling you free range just isn’t worth it, but you insist.”

Jesse just laughed as he started off towards where their stall was located in the farmer’s market. “Aw, you know caged just doesn’t taste the same.”

Hanzo sighed, “You’re right, but that doesn’t make it any less work.”

Jesse bumped his hips against his husband’s, his hands too full to hug him as he normally would, “I’ll take over next time, give you a break. I still gotta pay you back for last time.”

Hanzo set his box down heavily, already making his way back to the truck. “You can pay me back by getting us set up on time.”

“Yes sir!” Jesse raised his hand in a mock salute, and followed Hanzo back to the truck to unload the rest of their goods.

Hanzo and McCree had started selling at the farmer’s market years ago, and now were staunch regulars. They sold fruits and vegetables from their garden at their produce stand. The market they were in was particularly popular with the hipster crowd, given the heavy emphasis on organic growing, and keeping everything in season. So, due to that outlook, Hanzo and McCree had a rotating variety throughout the year. From broccoli, spinach, and strawberries in the spring, to bell peppers, peaches, and tomatoes in the summer, and apples, potatoes, and kale in the fall. 

Their stock dwindled during the winter months, but some of the fall stock carried over easily, as they were lucky enough to be blessed with mild winters in their region. They also supplemented it with the chicken eggs from their flock that they sold year round. Hanzo was particularly proud of the shiitake mushrooms he was able to provide year round as well, grown traditionally on old hardwood logs. When they were particularly deep into the winter months, they would also slaughter the pigs they’d raised that year and sell the meat, smoking the bacon in their own smokehouse. 

Their produce stock was award winning, and known throughout the market as not just the best there, but the best in the city. Mrs. Johnson, a sweet woman who ran a small baked goods stand, and made some of the best apple pie McCree had ever eaten, had been trying to get the secret to get their compost every year. Whenever she’d ask, the two of them would just smile and shrug, handing her an extra few apples in exchange for a pie.

“What can I say, must just be in the bones.” McCree would say, hugging Hanzo into his side. Mrs. Johnson would just sigh, and threaten to get it out of them next year. Rinse and repeat.

Hanzo and McCree had barely finished setting up, before the market opened to the masses, and the mid morning sun was already hot overhead. The shade of the tent over their heads seemed to almost trap the oppressive air against them. Their shirts stuck to their back, wet with sweat. In the distance, Hanzo heard a flood of people begin to enter the farmer’s market. Somewhere behind them, several rows over judging by the sound, a busker started up with a raucous cover of some Eagles song that McCree immediately began humming along to as he set up their register and card reader. He looked up and caught Hanzo’s eye, smile wide and bright, and Hanzo smiled right back. He wouldn’t give this up for the world.

Hanzo began to regret his earlier sentiment. 

A man with coiffed hair, a tweed vest, ripped blue jeans, a particularly ugly fluorescent yellow and ketchup red flannel, and a monocle had been trying to decide between two practically identical heads of butter lettuce for the last twenty minutes. 

“Are you sure this is organic?” He broke a leaf off the head and sniffed it, and Hanzo clenched his fist, and gritted his teeth to maintain his customer service smile. “I detect a faint waft of pesticide.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree sir, nothing is more organic than this, we use natural deterrents for pests, no pesticides.” The monocled man sneered and took a bite of the lettuce leaf he’d ripped off, chewing thoughtfully. Hanzo felt McCree glance at him from his position on the other end of the stall, where he was assisting a young pregnant woman bag her order in her many reusable bags.

The fashion disaster fake foodie finally finished chewing and regarded Hanzo with an intense stare, before selecting the butter lettuce on the left, the one he hadn’t sampled from. 

“I’ll take this one, although,” The gentrifier said, staring Hanzo up and down like he was both a nuisance and the best thing he’d looked at all day. “You should use more water.”

Hanzo cocked an eyebrow, internally rolling his eyes, but keeping his outside veneer of friendly customer service person in place, “Oh really, have you had similar luck on your own patch?” The man clearly hadn’t dirtied his hands with anything other than slicking his greasy ‘artfully’ unkempt hair with more pomade than necessary.

“Oh no,” The ‘I think Starbucks Coffee is the best coffee every created’ wannabee connoisseur said. “I just come here often, and…” He paused conspiratorially. “I run a blog.”

Hanzo faked shock, like it hadn’t been written all over this man’s wardrobe. “How fascinating.” Hanzo paused as he took the lettuce and began bagging it, in a recycled paper bag. “My husband and I love that sort of thing, people who are really in the food scene and all.”

Discount Morrisey look alike lit up like it was Christmas, and leaned in himself, chattering his fool head off about how no one in this city took food as seriously as he did. Had he tried that Korean place on 5th street? He looked like a man who’d appreciate Korean cuisine, except not that place because they only took cash and what kind of business didn’t take cards these days? Also their kimchi was far too spicy. They really needed to think about their clientele. 

Hanzo took his time, writing his and McCree’s address and phone number on a piece of paper. He made sure each letter, each number was crisp and clear. He leaned across the table between them and carefully tucked it into the ‘barbeque sauce is too spicy’ white boy’s pocket, upsetting his pocket square. 

“Bring a quality whiskey, and maybe we can show you the real way to eat food.” Holden Caufield darted his eyes over to McCree, who was now busy staring at the two of them with a wry smile on his face. The hipster, possibly for the first time in his life, experienced a bout of shyness.

“Is it going to be okay with,” He nodded his head towards McCree meaningfully, and Hanzo’s smile was practically wolfish in return. 

“Oh, he’ll probably join in.” He shrugged, handing him his produce. “What can I say, we’re progressive like that.”

Hanzo sighed and leaned back into his armchair, glass of whiskey in hand, and their record player playing an old Iron Maiden album, quiet enough that heavy metal blended seamlessly with the screaming in the background. Heavy boots made their way up the stairs, and the screams crescendoed for one delightfully loud second, as the basement door opened and closed, before being muffled again.

Hanzo smiled up at McCree. He looked good in red. “What happened to cage free, darling?”

McCree ducked down, placing a swift kiss on Hanzo’s lips. It tasted amazing, thick and viscous, bursting with iron, like he’d licked a battery. “Thought, we’d finally try marinating.”

Hanzo raised a brow, offering the glass to McCree who took it gratefully, collapsing into their pre plastic wrapped couch. “That doesn’t explain all the noise.”

McCree grinned, and slowly raised his hand, from which dangled their bounty. “Thought we’d try finger steaks again.”

“Why are you doing this to me!” The ‘Lolita had a point actually, just not the one you thought’ man’s hair had finally freed itself from it’s pomade prison and had grown steadily more wild the longer he had been kept in the dark, damp basement. His wrists were rubbed raw from the chains that held him to the wall, as were his ankles. Across the room, a kitten on a poster dangled from a branch. Hanzo was especially proud of that decor choice. Too much fear spoiled the meat, best to give them some hope. As for their meat’s question? He didn’t respond. 

“My friends will be looking for me! My family!” Hanzo kept his back turned, searching the cupboards for the bottle he needed. They really needed to reorganize. It’d been ages, since they properly catalogued their collection. He carefully moved aside a jar of adult molars, and dug deeper into the cupboard.

“The police, my followers. They’ll all know who you are! You won’t get away with this!”

Hanzo caught sight of the bloody stumps that adorned the man’s hands. He really should be thanking them for getting rid of those god awful finger tattoos. Removal was well, far cheaper than laser removal. Thankfully bad tattoo taste didn’t affect the taste of the meat. Hanzo licked his lips, the taste of iron exploding in his mouth again, as his tongue caught a stray droplet of blood. He thought of the finger steaks, Jesse had made the two of them last night. So rich and tender, far from the tough chewy things his first attempt had been. A hammer did wonders in the tenderizing department.

“Please.” Hanzo smiled as he finally found the bottle he’d been looking for, and quickly took it down, grabbing a rag as well. He spun around to face the meat. 

“Please, let me go. I’ll do anything.” The meat was crying. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Hanzo smiled, “No, you really wouldn’t would you.” The meat looked up, a shocked expression on its face.

“No!” The meat tried to move further from the wall, making a lovely melody with it’s chains. “No, I wouldn’t. I’d never tell anyone.”

Hanzo uncapped the bottle, wadding the rag, and placing it over the top, and he continued. 

“You wouldn’t tell anyone. In fact, you rarely talk to anyone. The only contact in your phone is your mother, who you haven’t spoken to in two years, and several old bosses, all who fired you. You’ve been unemployed,” Hanzo flashed his teeth as he tipped the bottle wetting the rag, “Excuse me, freelancing, wouldn’t want to offend you, with your blog that you so lovingly told us about. And that particular blog has only had, roughly,” He paused as if in thought, putting the bottle back on the bench and corking it again. “Forty eight people who’ve ever visited it, of which me and my husband are forty-six and forty-seven.”

He crouched down, the meat’s eyes were wide, and Hanzo would clearly see the whites of them. His pupils were huge. Hanzo loved and hated this part. He delicately ran a finger across the meat’s chin, drawing his gaze towards him, and placing a light kiss on it’s lips. They were cold and dry, and it’s breath was fast. 

“You really wouldn’t tell anyone, because there’s no one to tell. You were nothing to no one, and always would have been, but now you’re something better, something useful.” Hanzo readied the rag. “Your body will feed us, our livestock, the earth itself. There’s nothing more organic than that.” Hanzo leaned back and brought the rag to the meat’s face. It fought as it always did, but Hanzo held its head in place, until it stopped moving. 

He sighed and rose up, brushing the dirt off his knees, ignoring the sticky blood that had seeped into the denim. He wished he could keep them awake, but too much fear spoiled the meat. His taste buds would thank him later.

He cracked his back, and made a careful incision in the meat’s arm, careful not to go too deep, and collected the blood that welled up in a waiting mason jar. He pulled away when it was full, and carefully bandaged and disinfected the wound. If the meat got an infection, it wouldn’t be a total waste, there was always the compost pile, but their stores were running low. They didn’t want to kill him, not yet, McCree wanted a particular taste to the meat this time. They’d had to force feed it of course, but hopefully, the seasonings would take hold soon. 

The blood wasn’t for that though. McCree had been experimenting with blood sausage recently, and wanted to see what quality of product they were looking at this time. He firmly placed the lid on the mason jar and made his way back upstairs. Something delicious smelling wafted up to him as he climbed.

McCree had always been the better chef of the pair, and he was always coming up with creative ways to use every part of the carcass. Hanzo just had to sit back and enjoy. He thought everything McCree made was delicious in some way, even his failures, even those awful first try finger steaks. He played the role of taste tester well, of course he was the only one, other than the occasional meat they brought home and wanted to spoil. He supposed he was biased though.

A gentle humming reached his ears as he reached the top of the stairs and exited the basement. He made sure he locked the door behind him. McCree looked radiant in the morning light that filtered in their farmhouse’s windows. His hair was pulled back into a small ponytail at the base of his skull, and the sun glinted off the strands making the brown glitter with a deep golden hue. He was hardly dressed, despite the two of them being up for hours, and taking care of the various chores. He must have changed after he’d fed the hogs the scraps from last night. The wifebeater he wore was worn, a strap sliding off his shoulder slightly, and stained. The boxers he wore weren’t much better, and the cute bunny house slippers he had on his feet that Hanzo had given him last Christmas really brought the whole ensemble together.

He was the most beautiful thing Hanzo had ever seen.

He walked up behind him, and settled his arms around his husband’s waist, pressing the two of them so close.

“Morning, darlin’.” McCree shifted his stance to keep full use of his arms, while Hanzo clung to him. He was used to this. “Your tea should be ready.” 

Hanzo brushed a kiss, over the bite mark he’d left last night. Directly over the carotid artery. McCree chuckled, and stepped out of Hanzo’s grasp, pointing the spatula at him.

“Don’t tease me, not if you want breakfast.” His actions didn’t match his words though, as he dragged Hanzo into a deep kiss, only pulling away when both were breathless. He quickly cursed though, when whatever was in the pan seemed to sizzle alarmingly, and McCree had to hurriedly return to his task.

Hanzo meandered over to where McCree had set his tea on the counter, removing the tea bag, before taking a long sip. He sighed contentedly at the rich aromatic taste. Then, he climbed on the counter himself, to better watch the master at work.

McCree shot him a quick look that definitely told him who had kitchen cleaning duty today when he noticed the streak of red Hanzo’s jeans left on the counter. Hanzo merely saluted him with his mug, and took another long sip. McCree just rolled his eyes, but his expression was fond. Hanzo had never been more in love.

“What are we having?” Hanzo couldn’t quite make out what was in the pan.

“Eggs.” Hanzo cocked his head, raising an eyebrow in question, mostly because he could clearly see several uncracked eggs on the counter.

McCree just shook his head, and raised the pan, revealing two lumpy pink but quickly browning little sacs. “Eggs, from that blonde from the bar. The one in that ugly little purple frilly thing. Thought 2013 was the best year for country music ever.”

“The one who made us listen to Florida Georgia Line the whole way home?” That night had been particularly painful, thankfully not for them...mostly.

McCree flipped the eggs over, “That’s the one.” 

Hanzo jumped off the counter as McCree gently slid the ovaries onto plates and quickly cracked the chicken eggs, seasoning and scrambling them.

McCree was done plating as soon as Hanzo had cleaned his mug, and put it gently in the dishwasher. He took it from his husband, and leaned in to press a little kiss to his cheek.

“You think you’re so funny don’t you.” Hanzo said chucking, as the two sat down at the table. “Eggs, really?”

McCree just smiled, cut off a piece, and closed his eyes in rapture at the taste. Hanzo loved watching him eat. It was a religious experience, as was eating the food he created. McCree reached across the table and entwined their hands, giving Hanzo’s a quick squeeze before letting go. Two shiny scars marred the otherwise smooth surface of both their hands. A smooth ring, around the bases of their ring fingers on their left hands, almost like the skin had been removed at one time.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.” McCree said it suredly, like there had never been a question about who they were to each other. “I’m so glad I didn’t kill you.”

Hanzo smiled, wide and sharp and dangerous, as he took a bite. An indescribable flavor caressed every inch of his tongue, and he moaned. “Please, beloved, give me some credit. I would have killed you far before you killed me.”

McCree’s gaze was electric, hot. Hanzo loved when he got like this. 

“Is that a threat?” His voice was thick and heavy, and Hanzo could already feel the ropes, the clamps, the cuts. It was going to be a good week.

Hanzo slowly brought the knife he’d been using to cut the meat up to his mouth and licked it. A bead of blood, flowed down the shining steel.

“It’s a promise.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this was supposed to be part of the Danger and Dread zine but because of the fuckery that is 2020 it got cancelled so now I'm posting it all yay! And wow could I not figure out how to tag this, but that's nothing new. This is utter filth but I am not ashamed because this has been sitting in my head for six months rent free. If you liked it please leave a comment and feed my non canabillistic ego! While you're at it, go check out the other Danger and Dread pieces that are in the collection. Happy spooky season!!!!


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